


Viewing Party

by ShannonPhillips



Series: AUs and Out-takes [4]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: M/M, Porn Watching, bro-sexy, jack-off party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/pseuds/ShannonPhillips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was originally written for the Star Wars Rebels kinkmeme (http://swr-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/) to satisfy a request for "bro-sexy" Zeb/Gregor fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viewing Party

“So, this is where I sleep,” Zeb shrugged. “Bottom bunk. Ezra gets the top one.”  
  
Gregor cast around, his eyes lighting up as he recognized one of the pin-ups. “Oh, I have that one!” he cried with the glee of a child recognizing a favorite cartoon character. He elbowed Zeb with enough force that Zeb felt it even through his jumpsuit and fur. “ _Redheads_ , am I right?”  
  
“Ha ha hah, yeah,” Zeb chuckled, returning the shove.  
  
Gregor’s smile faded as his gaze traveled on. “But Ezra’s…well…a kid,” he said.  
  
Zeb nodded, confused. “Yeah?” he tried.  
  
“So when do you…?”  
  
“When do I what, mate?”  
  
Gregor rolled his eyes. “When do you—you know. Blow off steam? With your _collection_?”  
  
“Collection…?”  
  
Gregor elbowed him again. “Of _ladies_.”  
  
It took him a minute, but Zeb caught up eventually. “Oh—oh! You mean…right. Well.” He ran one bashful hand over his ears. “Not often, that’s for sure. Not since the kid moved in.”  
  
Gregor’s eyes went wide in pained sympathy. “Oh my friend,” he whispered. “ _Months_?”  
  
“I—I dunno. Sometimes I get a moment to myself in the fresher, you know.”  
  
“But you don’t have your pictures!” Gregor still looked appalled.  
  
Zeb made a frustrated noise. “You know how it is. You guys live in pretty close quarters too.”  
  
“Well of course we do!” The old soldier perked up, his whole body telegraphing his eagerness to share his wisdom. “That’s why we have our viewing parties!” He snapped his fingers, eyes sparking in delight. “Tell you what. I’ll set up one for you. Right now!”  
  
“Ahh…what?” Zeb managed, but Gregor was already ducking out of the cabin, intent on some new mission of his own. Zeb followed his echoing giggle through the ship’s passageways.  
  
“Wait up! Hey!” He didn’t manage to catch Gregor again until they’d left the Ghost, moving instead through the sterile white corridors of Sato’s ship. The clones had their bunks on the larger vessel.  
  
Gregor was literally skipping when Zeb caught up. “Ah, I can’t wait to show you _my_ collection,” he said. “Now, do you like vids or stills? How many dimensions? Any preference for species or color or height or weight? I don’t think—“ His face fell, suddenly, going from delight to despair in the blink of an eye. Zeb actually feared for a moment that he might cry. “I don’t think there’s any Lasat women in my datastore,” he said in a whisper.  
  
“That’s really not necessary,” Zeb assured him, and was relieved to see Gregor perk right up again.  
  
“Viewing party!” Gregor called happily as he keyed open the hatch to the clones’ barracks. “Viewing party with Zeb!”  
  
Inside, Rex looked up from a datapad. “Uh, Gregor,” he said. “Are you sure—”  
  
“I’m in,” said Wolffe. “I’ll get the snacks.”  
  
“Zeb,” Rex tried again. “I’m not sure if you under—”  
  
“Ahhhhh…I’m pretty sure I do,” Zeb sighed.  
  
Rex shrugged. “I’ll go share these extrapolations with General Tano. I’ll be back in…” He consulted a chronometer. “Forty five minutes?”  
  
“Perfect, Captain!” Gregor said, from his hands and knees. He’d gone to his bunk and was rummaging around in one of the drawers. He emerged with a datacard and a look of triumph. He whispered almost reverently: “Outré in the Outer Rim: Play Ball!”  
  
“Oh, I like that one,” said Wolffe, re-emerging from the back section of the barracks with a bowl of something crispy in his hands. “That’s the one with the naked Huttball match, yeah? And the winning team gets the strap-ons?”  
  
“Hush!” Gregor said firmly. “You’ll _spoil_ it.”  
  
“Not really the kind of thing that can be spoiled, mate,” Zeb said.  
  
“Just get the lights and the holoprojector,” Gregor said: and though Wolffe grumbled, he set down his bowl and starting setting up a portable projector.  
  
Gregor gestured expansively: “Take a seat!” Then he turned to dim the lights.  
  
There weren’t, in fact, any chairs, so Zeb settled his weight onto the nearest bunk. A moment later Gregor threw himself down next to Zeb. Wolffe took a few minutes cursing and wrestling with the datacard before the holovid abruptly began to play. A cheesy, low-cost musical score filled the room and a scantily clad human woman began to explain the…“unique”…rules of the sporting event they were about to witness.  
  
Wolffe settled on the floor, at their feet, and handed up the bowl. “Pufferpig cracklings,” he explained. “Barbeque flavor.” Zeb tried one and grunted his appreciation.  
  
“The girls in this,” Gregor said, without taking his eyes off the unfolding action, “they’re a—whatchacallit. Working collection.”  
  
“Worker’s collective,” Wolffe supplied.  
  
“Ehehehee! That’s right, that’s right. It means all the money goes straight to them. And nobody’s telling ‘em what to do. They work for the joy of it.”  
  
“The joy and the credits,” said Wolffe.  
  
“Sure, sure, but they’re—athletes. They’re perfecting their _sport_.”  
  
“Nah, I get it,” said Zeb. “It’s important to know how these things are made. If the girls aren’t having any fun, you can tell.”  
  
“You can tell!” Gregor cried excitedly. “What did I say! I said, you can tell!”  
  
“You said that,” Wolffe agreed. “Now shut up, number 5 there just fell into the pudding trap and I want to see her take the penalty.”  
  
Zeb crunched another crackling. He had to admit, whatever the girls in the holovid lacked in athletic ability, they more than made up for with enthusiasm. There was a good range of species and body types, and everybody seemed…well…friendly. Especially when they started getting _very_ friendly.  
  
It had been a while. Zeb shifted uncomfortably as the video progressed. The atmosphere in the room was casual and relaxed, but he wasn’t sure what the etiquette here was, and he found himself getting increasingly hot and bothered.  
  
It was a relief when Wolffe loosened the straps on his armor and pushed his pants down just enough to free his cock in its thatch of white hair. Not because Zeb particularly cared about the way the old man was taking himself in hand, but because it gave him a guideline for expected behavior. Beside him, Gregor did the same thing.  
  
Zeb’s jumpsuit had a hidden closure that made that kind of access easy. It was a good thing—he didn’t want to have to strip entirely every time he needed to pee. With some self-consciousness, he pulled it open and allowed his own erection to spring free.  
  
“Eh? Bet the Lasat ladies are missing _that_!” Gregor said, digging his elbow into Zeb’s ribs.  
  
“Eyes front, soldier!” Wolffe grumbled, and it was the low-key exasperation in his tone that set Zeb at ease enough to chuckle and return the shove.  
  
A comfortable silence settled over the barracks, broken only by the soft music and the sounds of exertion and pleasure from the women. Gregor was stroking himself leisurely, almost as an afterthought; Wolffe was applying more vigor to the task. Zeb loosed a soft breath and pulled his fingers up from root to tip, sparking a wave of pleasure that tingled down to his toes.  
  
His eyelids drifted lower as he sank into a slow, steady rhythm. He could almost block out everything but the images and the sex-sounds: but somehow, the presence of the clones made it almost easier for Zeb to relax. He wouldn’t have predicted it, but there was something almost reassuring about Gregor’s bulk beside him. Usually jacking off was a solitary, sad, despairing sort of thing for him, but having the others here made it...companionable. Normal. Friendly.  
  
On the holovid one of the teams had been declared the victor, although honestly Zeb had lost track of the scoring long ago. Instead of trophies or medals they seemed to be handing out orgasms. The losers got consolation orgasms, too. The closing ceremonies went on and on.  
  
Wolffe came first, and nonchalantly cleaned himself up, then reclaimed the bowl of cracklings. Zeb decided to step up his own game. A faster rhythm, a firmer grip: he leaned forward to get a better view of the two team captains congratulating each other on a match well played. He still wasn’t convinced they knew the rules of Huttball, but they certainly both knew how to score. Fingers and mouths and soft flesh pressed together…the camera zoomed into the first girl’s face as she came. It was full of unfeigned, raw ecstasy: and then Zeb closed his eyes and stroked hard and fast until he came too.  
  
Wolffe passed back a packet of wipes, and then the bowl of snacks. Zeb cleaned himself up, straightened his jumpsuit, and helped himself to a fistful of cracklings. Beside him Gregor stiffened and groaned. After a moment, Zeb handed on the wipes.  
  
“Better, eh?” Gregor grinned, and since he knew what was coming, Zeb elbowed Gregor before the soldier could get him in the ribs. Both laughed.  
  
“Better,” Zeb admitted.  
  
“D’you think the mess is open yet? I’m starving.”  
  
“Heard they were serving roast oritak,” Wolffe grunted. “Team just came back from Dantooine with a crateload full of frozen ones.”  
  
Gregor perked up. “Real oritak? Not just protein-molded nuggets?”  
  
“Real oritak is what I heard.”  
  
Gregor jumped off the bunk. “Let’s go!” he cried to Zeb. “I know you can’t keep up with me, but I’ll try to save you some!”  
  
“Can’t keep up with—old man, I hope you can keep your appetite after you swallow my _dust_!” Zeb lunged off the bunk, racing for the hatchway just as Gregor vanished through.  
  
The sound of footfalls and laughter rang through the ship, and in their wake Wolffe just smiled and shook his head.


End file.
